


Welcome Home

by Jael



Series: Time After Time [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 23:02:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7194413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael/pseuds/Jael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few missing scenes from Chapter 7 of "If I Never." *whistles innocently*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during "If I Never," chapter 7, showing a series of scenes between the time Sara reaches out to Len in the Oculus and the time they disembark in Central City. So read that first. :)

 

"And so ..." Rip stops his pacing, takes a deep breath. "... it seems only appropriate to ask you lot if you'd care to be among this first new group of Time Masters I'm proposing."

His words are met with a slightly stunned silence ... which is broken by a low chuckle.

"Even me?" drawls Leonard Snart from where he's sprawled across one of the jump seats, looking remarkably like he'd never left ... save for the fact his fingers are tightly interlaced with those of Sara Lance.

They have been pretty much since the pair emerged from the interior of this strange new Vanishing Point, to find the battle over and the status quo in flux.

He seems to have no ill effects from time apparently spent in limbo, or in the Oculus, whatever happened. And if Rip keeps giving him odd sidelong looks at his calm assertion that the Oculus _let_ him go - that the Oculus is sentient and deserves to be treated as such - well, that's not something he seems to be fazed by.

He gets one of those slightly rueful sidelong looks now, as a matter of fact. "Yes, Mr. Snart. Even you. _Especially_ you, as you seem to have a ... unique ... perspective on time theory and the Oculus at this point.

"Now. Some could stay here. And the Waverider will still need a crew ... and a captain, as I intend to start rebuilding here." Rip hesitates. "Please, think about it."

The discussion starts with shared glances amongst the team, across the board. The most intense, somewhat predictably, is between their lost-and-found crook and their wayward assassin.

Voices are starting to rise as that pair physically rises and heads for the crew quarters. Sara tosses a "We'll think about it" over her shoulder as they go.

Snart, predictably, just smirks.

It's more for show than anything else, though, and it runs off his face even as Sara, who still hasn't let go of his hand, tugs gently as she walks just slightly ahead of him down the corridor.

He's putting up a good front. But he's wiped out.

A little of that is physical, he supposes. Most is mental.

Dealing with too many memories while stuck in the Oculus ( _with_ the Oculus?) was one thing. Dealing with them out here, with other people and other distractions, is another.

The looks from the rest of the team and the memories they evoke ... he's both the sometimes-grudging teammate who saved them and a man who barely knows them at all. His reactions are sometimes of one, sometimes of the other. He's always been the wary observer, but having to examine every reaction to judge which part of him is reacting is really a bit much.

There's one thing alone he's absolutely sure of here, and that one thing leads him into her quarters without a backward glance, snapping at Gideon to be sure they're undisturbed, then turns to face him with a carefully blank look on her face.

"How are you doing?"

It's the first time they've been alone since that stolen first moment in the Oculus chamber. He hesitates, uncertain at her demeanor, then concedes, "I'm ... weary. And I'm starting to get a headache. It's going to take some time to sort through two different sets of memories for five months."

She takes a step closer, still with that odd expression on her face. "But you're mostly feeling OK? Whatever it was that happened, it doesn't seem to have done any permanent damage?"

He shrugs. "Gideon says so. All parts …" smirk "... present and accounted for. And I feel fine."

She closes her eyes. When she opens them, he sees the sheen of tears.

"Sara ..."

She holds up a hand, closing her eyes again. "You really remember everything?"

"I think so." He takes a step closer, too. "I'm sorry."

"For?" Her eyes are open again and she's frowning at him through the tears.

"Pulling the gun on you at the Vanishing Point. I was ... terrified." What's the point on putting on a front here and now? Not with her. "Thought the others were probably dead already and maybe we could make it out. I wouldn't have done it."

The shadow of a smile. "No, because I could have disarmed you at any point and you know it."

"Point." Then, softly, "I remember a hell of a kiss at the wellspring."

"Mmmm." Her face is utterly serious again. "But you remember afterward, too."

"Sort of. Blue light. And then everything's sort of confusing for a while. I remember when you showed up at the townhouse." He sighs. "Pulling the gun on you again."

"You didn't know who I was."

"No." But he hesitates. "I don't know. Maybe subconsciously."

"You remember it all, now."

It's a question and it isn't and he suddenly realizes what, precisely she's asking. "I remember every minute with you," he tells her quietly, then smirks again. "I remember the shower at S.T.A.R. Labs."

The sound that comes out of her is both a sob and a laugh and suddenly she's weeping, tears rolling down her face as she stands there, pouring out of this woman, this toughest person he knows. Startled and worried, he crosses the few steps remaining between them and hesitantly puts his arms around her. She buries her face in his chest and cries.

Is _this_ for him? He doesn't deserve this, and he really, _really_ hates to think he's caused her such pain. But all he can do is hold her, and let her weep.

A few minutes later, she takes a shuddering breath and turns her head so it's lying on his shoulder. "Sorry."

"Please."

"I didn't want to lose either one of you."

It takes a minute for him to realize what she's saying. "You mean ... both the guy who blew himself up at the wellspring and the jerk who didn't want to save the world?"

"Hm. Thought we'd established they're both jerks." But there's a smile in her voice as she says it.

The words spill out before he thinks about them:

"They both love you."

Silence. Then she pulls back suddenly, looks him in the eyes, her own reddened from crying, her face still streaked with tears.

"You really just said that."

He's wondering if he shouldn't have. "Yes, I guess I did."

Her smile is sly and lovely and sad and happy and he wants to see it every day of his life.

"I love you, too, jerk."

There's really only one answer to that. He leans forward and kisses her.

They'd had a brief moment, a kiss filled more with relief and wonder than anything else, back when he'd first stumbled out of the Oculus chamber. This is more. This is, Sara thinks in the small corner of her mind still reserved for thinking, the first time she's really kissed the man she knew on the Waverider, the one who had circled around her for a five-month slow burn before making a move, too late.

The wellspring, she's decided, doesn't count. Not now that he's back. That was a goodbye.

This is a beginning.

She realizes, suddenly, that there's a question she's wanted to ask for what seems like a very long time. So she pulls back just long enough to look into his eyes again.

"So … thinking about me and you ... was it _really_ keeping you up at night?"

He gazes at her a moment, then admits, "Yeah. Wasn't used to caring. Just gets you hurt." His eyes are distant a moment. "You were the first time I thought it might be otherwise."

"And I shut you down."

He snorts. "Really? Did you _not_ think I was 'one hell of a thief?' I just thought that was a challenge."

She laughs out loud. He smiles and, holding her gaze, moves in slowly, very slowly, for another kiss.

The world seems very still as his lips touch hers; his hand comes up to cup her jaw. She closes her eyes.

They mutually deepen the kiss after the merest pause. She snakes one hand around the back of his neck, gently tracing his hairline. Her other hand moves to the small of his back where, after the briefest hesitation, she runs it up and under his shirt, splaying her fingers against the bare skin of his back, pressing him closer.

Only the slightest twitch tells her that, yes indeed, this is a man who is both used and not used to more ... intimate ... contact with her. He breaks the kiss to give her a slightly rueful smile, but she just pulls him back.

The kiss is quite heated now, tongues colliding, teeth nipping, just a little. His arms are around her, too, hands resting just at the small of her own back. (She laughs as one dips lower; he gives her an evil grin.) When he steps forward, carefully, guiding her back toward the bed, she hesitates just long enough to enjoy the feel of him pressed completely against her, then moves backward with him, laughing a little at his noise of frustration.

Somehow, before they get there, she manages to get his shirt over his head, flinging it to a corner of the room. (And she's ridiculously pleased at the amount of coordination she's retained, despite multiple distractions, to be able to do so.) He pauses at the edge of the bed with his hands at her hips, then gives her another rueful look.

"While I'll admit ... fantasizing about it quite a bit," he drawls, familiar speech patterns not entirely concealing a hint of mortification, "I have to admit I don't have the foggiest idea how to get you out of this thing."

She laughs at him, pressing the heel of a hand to the center of his chest and pushing back firmly. "Captain Cold, foiled by the White Canary _suit_." She pivots to show him a concealed zipper, then slowly starts to pull it down. "You just wanted a show."

"Maayybee." Either way, arms folded and eyes alight, he looks all too willing to accept it.

By the time the white leather has joined his shirt in the corner of the room, though, they're both more than ready to move on. He boosts her up to the edge of the bed, but before he follows, he pauses, eyes on hers and an oddly hesitant expression on his face.

"I love you." Seems it gets easier every time, he thinks.

Her lips curve. "Show me."

He does.

* * *

"And what do we think of Rip's plan?"

Curled up against his chest, she smiles a little at the echo. "I think the plan isn't a bad one. I just wonder where we fit in with it."

"Me too." He shifts a little, and she moves to look up at him in the dimmed light. "You mentioned once," he pauses, "trying this ... life ... together. So, what is it you want to do?"

"Hmmm." A pause. "I don't want to stay here. At this Vanishing Point."

"Me neither."

"I though maybe ..."

"Might want to come back from time to time. Visit."

She makes the leap. (He's unlikely to want to visit Rip, after all.) "It really _is_ sentient?"

"I'm no expert. But, yeah, it seemed to be. I had to get through to it that I didn't belong there. Then it wanted to know where I _did_ belong."

"Oh? And what did you tell it?

He smiles when he thinks of the entity's conclusion. "It sort of figured that out on its own. So," he continues, letting her draw her own conclusion from his next words, "what is it **_you_** want to do?"

By her silence, and the look on her face, she understands. Then: "I want to go home."

He'd thought that maybe she'd want to take on the role of captain of the Waverider, and while he'd been willing to follow, he finds himself relieved to hear otherwise. The part of him that wanted nothing to do with time travel exists. "Star City?" He'd hate to leave the apartment, but maybe he can keep it to stay when they visit. Lisa has her own life; he can always visit. And he suspects he knows what Mick's next move will be, and it _won't_ be returning to life as a Central City crook. "Will your vigilante crew accept ..."

"No. Central."

"I thought ..."

"Len." She moves so she can see his face better. "I grew up in Star City. I lived there for a time as an adult. There are good memories; there are also horrible ones. I want to move on. I _need_ to move on.

"The times I've spent in Central City with you over the past year or so ... it feels like it can be home."

This woman just keeps rendering him speechless.

"OK," he says finally. "Central. Is ... the apartment OK?"

The smile he gets now is downright sultry. "I already have some ... good memories ... there. It's perfect."

"OK," he repeats. "Home."

For the first time in quite some time, he feels like he really has one.


End file.
